


Red Light, Green Light

by arrow (esteefee)



Category: due South
Genre: Angst and Humor, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-15
Updated: 2007-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-17 11:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/arrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fits and starts. And more fits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Light, Green Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nos4a2no9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nos4a2no9/gifts).



> ...who made me a [fabulous birthday fic](http://nos4a2no9.livejournal.com/137105.html) that I didn't even get to see  
> because I was busy making waffles or accosting bovines or something INANE.
> 
> Warnings: Unnecessary Bathing! +Garden Gnomes!

They were back. They were back and, yeah, Ray had thought things would be different somehow, now that they'd spent all that time together, two peas in a polyamide pod with nothing but the dogs and the wind howl to keep them company. But coming back to Chicago had changed things. Ray felt like they were cartoon characters just after the bulldozer treatment, both of them inflating and popping back into their old shapes.

And now they were just partners, again—the best, but still. Somehow he missed something he hadn't realized they'd had out there in the cold.

So—same old, same old. There they were, ducking berserk factory equipment while trying to dodge bullets at the same time, and Fraser got shot in the hat, but it didn't even slow him down, not until the mechanical arm snatched him from the conveyer belt and tried to turn him into a six foot tall garden gnome.

Ray barely shot the off switch in time.

Afterward, Fraser poked his finger through the hole in his Stetson and gave this really heavy sigh before putting it down. His eyes were a little droopy when he lifted his cheeseburger.

"What's up?" Ray took advantage of Fraser's diversionary neck cracking and glance away to steal some fries off his plate and slip them to Dief.

"This isn't the first time I've been shot in the hat," Fraser said slowly. He put his burger back down and took a sip of water, wincing at the taste. Ray could see the floaty bits of lemon pulp sticking to the side of the glass.

"Yeah? See, that surprises me not at all, Fraser. In fact, if I were gonna shoot you, the first place I'd go for is your hat."

Fraser's eyes widened in surprise. "You think about shooting me?"

"Every day, pal. Every day."

That got him an almost-smile, a slight tensing of Fraser's lips that meant he'd just held one in. It was almost as satisfying as the real thing.

"So, what happened last time?"

"Ah. Well, that was when I first met Willie, actually. I took a gun from him it turned out had been used to steal a fortune in bearer bonds. We tracked the real thieves to a shipping center..."

Ray let Fraser's voice drone on in his ears, since the story was familiar from a case file. But then Fraser's voice petered out strangely, and Ray's brain did a quick stop-retrieve-replay.

"Ray Vecchio didn't seem to trust me very much when I confronted the young lady, er, criminal. But I did have a plan..." The hound eyes were back.

"I'm sure he trusted you, Frase. You were his partner."

Fraser's face was still for a beat, then he said softly, "Well, I trusted him, in any case."

The words hung there for a split second before Fraser continued in a hurry, "Thankfully, I always have a second hat, so I wasn't forced to stand guard duty with a bullet hole in my Stetson the next day. That would _not_ have given the impression the RCMP hopes to convey." Fraser nodded decisively.

"Fraser, a guy would have to be crazy not to trust you."

Fraser gave him a strange look. "Thank you."

Ray coughed. "You done? I'm ready to hit the sack. 'S been a long day."

"That it has, Ray."

>>><<<

The next day was even more of the same—he and Fraser risking their lives in unbelievably stupid ways—only this time Ray couldn't see Fraser's face afterward through all the damned blood dripping into his eyes, and Fraser sounded weird when he offered Ray his handkerchief.

"Ray," Fraser said in a strange, shaky voice. "For a moment there I thought you—your eyes—I was worried—"

Fraser. Shaky. So that was something new, kind of universe-careening-off-its-hinges new, and when Ray took the handkerchief and tried to mop it against his eyes to see, Fraser took it back from him and—another piece of new—steadied Ray with one hand on the side of his cheek to press it against the gash himself.

And that was odd. Fraser didn't touch him much, except when he was hauling him out of a garbage bin, or pushing him out of the way of an oncoming prison bus filled with killer clowns. New and weird, but weird-nice. Fraser's hand on his cheek was warm and big, and almost distracted Ray from the ow of pressure against the cut on his scalp.

"Ow."

"Yes, I'm sorry, Ray. But, honestly—you might have considered taking cover behind something that wasn't constructed entirely of glass."

"Yeah, well, I'll take that under impeachment."

"As well you should." Fraser just stood there holding Ray's face, and Ray let him, and the weird changed into something else. He could smell Fraser like this, so close, more concentrated than he was used to, since out on the snowfields his nose wasn't good for anything but running snot, and in the tent they tried really hard _not_ to smell each other after weeks with nothing but snow baths.

Fraser smelled earthy, somehow, this close—a combination of adrenaline sweat and some sort of shaving soap and wool and musk and just a hint of wolf. He smelled damned good. Ray took a deep sniff right next to Fraser's neck, not even aware he was doing it until he noticed Fraser stiffen a little in surprise.

But then Fraser inched closer and his fingers moved in a fraction of a caress.

Ray swallowed, feeling his cheek shift under Fraser's palm. He leaned back to look into Fraser's eyes.

"That the way it is?" When had his voice gotten sandpaper in it?

Fraser blinked once, slowly. "I—no. No." He pulled away completely and looked down at the bloody handkerchief, then handed it to Ray.

Well, that was such a lie. And there were about a hundred reasons why this would be a very bad idea, but Ray couldn't seem to dredge up a single one of them just then, because Fraser wasn't looking at him, only he was very specifically _not_ looking at him, and that was just too serious to ignore. Like the shaky thing. Ray thought if Fraser were to lick his lip just then—

Oops. There he went. Nice hint of wet/pink, and it seemed to take longer than it should have. Either Ray's brain was on slo-mo, or Fraser's tongue was. Maybe both.

Then Fraser turned and walked away.

Everything having gone officially weird, Ray's feet felt funny walking over to the GTO to put out an APB on the perp who, yeah, had gotten away, that part sucked. But the good part was Fraser hadn't gone speeding off after him like The Flash, complete with red suit but minus the form-fitting spandex (tragedy, there) and instead had stuck around to see if the shattering glass had severed any of Ray's major arteries.

Nice of him. Good guy. Great partner. Terrific friend even, if you didn't count the part where he was almost always totally broke (funny money didn't count) and told stories that made absolutely no sense unless you thought about them and a little while later _blammo!_ you realized Fraser had just insulted you really sly-like, or had made some deep point about Justice or human nature or whatever.

But Ray could forgive him. That was just Fraser. He had to love the guy. But not like that. More like Ray _loved_ him, and sure, he was _hot_ for him, but he didn't _love_ Fraser. He couldn't. Could he? Fraser was too perfect for that. And love—love was way, way too messy for a Mountie.

Ray could tell he'd been sitting silently with a big frown for too long, because Fraser had straightened up completely in the seat beside him and was saying, "Are you sure you're all right, Ray?"

"Yeah. Super."

"Would you like to call it in, then? We have to get you to the Emergency Room."

"Oh. Right." He was master of the one-word sentence. Ray reached for the mic and called in the incident, giving the name and description of the guy _—"Peter Lawford. No, not the actor. He's dead. No, **not** the perp, the actor is—oh, forget it. Just put out an APB."_

Fraser was like a stick in the passenger seat on the way to the hospital. And then Ray was doing the lidocaine-and-stitches routine and lost track of him for a while, and when Ray came back out, Fraser seemed normal again, giving him a nod and twirling his hat.

"Your bandage is very fetching, Ray. You put me to mind of Björn Borg."

"Oh. Ha. Ha."

See? Back to normal.

>>><<<

They didn't talk about it. Fraser seemed completely the same as always, except for a very brief and occasional wild-eyed look like a horse that just heard a rattler.

They spent Tuesday afternoon in ninety-five-degree weather and two thousand percent humidity riding in the car trying to track down Skinny Sam. The AC in the goat was busted, and traffic was stop-and-go the whole time, which made Ray absolutely nuts. He cursed and banged the wheel and pulled a stick of gum out of his pocket, needing something else but he wasn't quite sure what. A Slurpee? A menthol cigarette? A full body beer immersion?

Fraser didn't seem frustrated at all. Of course. He must have taken Inhuman Patience 101 during Mountie training, because he never seemed to crack a nerve over the stupid stuff. But his face looked a little pale, and his skin kind of clammy, which was unusual.

"You feelin' okay, buddy?" Ray asked, snapping his gum.

Fraser nodded, and then he swallowed. Not a good sign.

"Your stomach bugging you?"

Fraser nodded again, this time looking a little ashamed.

"It's all this stop-and-go stuff. And you're probably not real used to that. I mean, not a lot of traffic when you're on a dog sled."

That got him a small quirk of Fraser's lips, but Fraser still seemed afraid to open his mouth.

"Listen—screw Skinny Sam. We'll take you back to my place, maybe pick up some fizzy water on the way."

So that's what Ray did. For once Fraser didn't seem to have any fight in him, and Ray understood—nothing like the feeling of wanting to upchuck to take the starch right out of your shorts.

As soon as the car stopped moving, Fraser climbed out and stood, straightening carefully and tugging at his uniform. He'd forgotten his hat on the dash, and Ray grabbed it for him. It was a long second or two before Fraser began walking into the building and up the stairs.

It was weird to see Fraser so out of it when he hadn't been beaten with a two-by-four or landed on his head or something. But he walked all shaky-legged as Ray nudged him into the apartment, and then suddenly made a beeline for the bathroom down the hall.

Ray didn't want to hear the result, so he went to the kitchen and stared at teas. A wall of them. When had he stocked his cupboard with tea? Ray's eye caught on one with ginger, and remembered his mom giving him ginger ale when he was feeling queasy.

He put some water on the stove and tried to start it up, but the pilot light was out. He ended up using his Zippo to get it going. By the time the water was boiling, he heard sink sounds coming from the bathroom. Then Fraser appeared in the doorway.

Jesus. He looked like a sheet of paper. Paler than the palest Ray had ever seen him. There was a little curl of toothpaste foam on the corner of his mouth.

"You better sit down, buddy." _Before you pass out._

Fraser just stared at him looking dazed.

"Chair. Down. Sit."

That worked. Fraser pulled out a chair and sat so heavily the thing creaked like it was going to bust. "What are you doing?" he asked, sounding foggy.

"I'm making tea? You know, the stuff you Canadians drink instead of decent beverages like coffee or pop? Fraser?" Ray turned. "Fraser!"

Fraser was in the act of toppling like a mighty redwood. Ray could practically hear the cry of _timber!_ He dropped the tea bag and rushed around the cutaway, catching all two hundred pounds of Mountie in his arms and landing with him on the floor.

"Oh, this is just great. Terrific, Fraser," Ray muttered. "Stupid-ass Mountie. Why didn't you tell me—?"

Fraser groaned weakly.

"Never mind. C'mon, let's get you to the couch."

Ray hoisted him with his hip, hanging on with one arm and climbing off his knees to haul Fraser upright. They staggered a few steps to the couch and then Fraser keeled, making Ray lose his grip so he had to dump Fraser down on the cushions like a sack of potatoes.

"Jeez. Buddy, what's going _on_?" This was more than just carsickness, that was for sure. Fraser was completely gray, his face dry and tight-looking.

"Hot." Fraser said, tugging weakly at his collar.

Well, duh. Idiot was decked out in wool, for Christ's sake, on the hottest, muggiest day of the year. Heatstroke, then.

So Ray got to work on the buckles and straps and buttons and boots until he had Fraser down to his skivvies. Fraser didn't do a thing to help, but at least he didn't give Ray any of his usual _Oh, I don't mean to be a bother_ and _that really won't be necessary_ bullshit. Small favors.

Instead, he just lay there limply, twitching occasionally as if someone had short-circuited his motherboard. He was too hot—warmth radiated from the dry, flushed skin of his chest and arms.

"You don't do so good in this heat, do you, pal?" Ray said, feeling weirdly affectionate. Fraser just looked so damned discombobulated. He was definitely out of his element here. "Maybe you should take a little vacation up north—"

"No!" Fraser jackknifed on the couch, one hand clutching weakly at Ray's shoulder.

"Hey! Hey, now. Take it easy."

"I won't," Fraser muttered mutinously. "You can't make me."

"Okay, okay," Ray said. "No one's making you do nothing." He tried to joke, "I mean, as if you _ever_ listen to anything a guy tells you, like don't talk to the knife-wielding maniac, or, hey, Big Red, watch out for that robotic arm—"

"Not leaving. Not going to give you the chance—" Fraser pressed his lips together and closed his eyes, then dropped back against the arm of the couch.

"Hold that thought. You need to drink some water." Ray went and fetched a plastic bottle of water from the fridge—another thing he kept stocked for his weirdo partner. "Here," Ray said, twisting off the top. "Let's get some of this in you. I think you have heatstroke or something."

Fraser drank obediently and then handed it back with his eyes still closed up tight.

So Fraser didn't _want_ to be back up to freezer land? Since when? Of course, he'd come back down here with Ray after their adventure, but Ray just figured Fraser was still waiting for _the_ perfect transfer, that primo placement at the butt-fuck edge of empty where Fraser could be alone to commune with the snow and the caribou and the nothingness of it all.

Actually, Ray had spent pretty much every day with a low hanging dread in his gut just _waiting_ for Fraser to tell him the papers were signed and the deal was done. Finito. It's been real, but sayonara.

"You don't want to go home?" Ray blurted, then bit his lip when Fraser actually flinched.

"I'm sorry for what happened," Fraser said suddenly, his voice dry and whispery and just this side of cracking, "If I _say_ I'm sorry and that I'm not—I won't—" He opened his eyes and stared up at Ray. "I would _never,_ Ray. I'd never try to push my-my _attentions_ on you—"

"Whoa, whoa, there—"

"—because you know I am an honorable—I _try_ to be....so hard. I'm trying, Ray—"

"Fraser!"

"—and I promise I won't bother you with it. Just don't go. Don't." Fraser suddenly stopped his crazy ramble, his eyes rolling back as he panted softly. His neck and arms were pink and damp.

Ray sat down, nudging Fraser's leg over to make room. "Hey."

Fraser's eyes stayed shut tight.

"What's this all about, huh? Why do you think I'd go somewhere?"

"Why not?" Fraser whispered, sounding resigned. "You're an undercover policeman. And you're not...you're not Ray Vecchio any longer."

 _Oh, Stanley, you stupid shit,_ Ray thought, finally getting it. He punished himself with a pinch to his own leg. __  
  
"I'm not going anywhere, Frase. You come off a long assignment like that—a loooong assignment—they don't put you under again—at least, not on another long-term gig. And, anyway, I could just tell 'em no way, Jose."

Fraser shook his head against the cushion. "He told me he was my friend—and he is, Ray. But he still left."

"Hey, why would I want to go anywhere? I got everything I need—big, crazy Mountie to get me into trouble, and a half-wolf to take to the park and buy hot dogs for..."

"He really shouldn't eat those, they're very high in sodium nitrite," Fraser mumbled. His eyes opened up a crack.

Ray stared into Fraser's eyes until they opened some more.

"You get what I'm saying, Frase? Because I really am _not_ Vecchio, like you said."

Fraser nodded very cautiously, his eyes not leaving Ray's face.

"What happened there, huh? Tell me?" The bottle was cold in Ray's hand, leaking drops over his fingers. He handed it back to Fraser, who took it and drank some more before dropping his head.

Chin on his chest, Fraser said slowly, "I kissed him. I kissed Ray Vecchio, and he kissed me back." Fraser's lips quirked in a bitter smile. "And then he punched me in the mouth." Sounding a little bit more like himself, he lifted his head and said, "Apparently there's something about my face that invites punching."

 _Ouch._ Score one for the Mountie.

"Hey, at least _I_ let you punch me back."

"Yes, Ray. I'm sure I was very grateful for the opportunity." The irony was so thick Ray could practically see it in waves. "And then, of course, Ray Vecchio...left."

_Shit. Way to go with the backstabbing action, Vecchio. Like shooting him there wasn't enough?_

__"I ain't him, is the thing I keep sayin', is the point you should be focusing on here. I—ain't—Vecchio." Ray poked Fraser's chest with his finger for emphasis. "I'm not Italian, for one thing. But that ain't the _only_ way I'm different, you get me?"

Fraser's mouth fell open in understanding. But then he shook his head.

"Seriously, Fraser."

But the dumb Canuck was still shaking his head. "Ray—"

"God, you're such a _stupid_ —" Ray interrupted himself by leaning over and kissing Fraser once and, when Fraser just lay there frozen, again, the second time making it count for something, dipping his tongue out to lick Fraser's lower lip.

Then Ray drew back and licked his lips. "So—wanna punch me?" He had sandpaper voice again. God, Fraser's mouth was so sweet. So real.

Fraser's eyes were shocked wide open and deep blue, the rest of his face blank and still. Then his mouth moved. "Ray?" he creaked out.

"Yeah, Fraser. I'll just let you think on that. I'm gonna go run some cold water in the bathtub, because you are still too hot, and not in a good way."

Ray got out, needing a second to breathe, to let his face go. He'd kissed Fraser. Oh, man. And he'd made the Mountie speechless, which was no small thing. Ray grinned as he bent over the tub and turned on the faucet. The stitches on his forehead throbbed, and he forced himself not to scratch at them. He'd forgotten about them, but now he felt embarrassed about kissing Mr. Perfect when he still looked like Frankenstein.

Only Fraser _wasn't_ perfect. Big news, there, but seeing him laid out by heatstroke had done something funny to Ray's insides. No, the Mountie wasn't perfect. And what's more, he needed Ray. He was scared Ray was going to leave.

Surprising day.

"Ray." There was a cold shadow at his back, and Ray turned to see Fraser leaning against the door sill. He was so damp with sweat that the starched material of his boxers was almost translucent, revealing the tempting pink of skin and a shadow of dark pubic hair.

Ray swallowed and turned back toward the tub. "Let's get you in here, Fraser. Best cure for heatstroke is a cool-down."

"You're going to...to bathe me?"

Suppressing a grin, Ray turned and reached for the bottom of Fraser's T-shirt. "Yeah, you got a problem with that?"

Fraser lifted his arms cooperatively, his expression dazed as it disappeared behind his shirt. "No, I—"

Ray dropped Fraser's shirt to the floor and stared at the hairless broad chest, the swell of Fraser's pecs, and the chocolate-pale nipples.

"I just wish I were in more of a condition to appreciate it."

"Huh?" Ray jerked his eyes up to find Fraser smiling slightly. Then Fraser pushed past him, and Ray turned to see Fraser slipping his boxers off his hips, revealing a firm, perfect ass. Perfect. Perfectly fuckable ass, right there, and Ray's dick twitched in total agreement.

"Uh." Ray cleared his throat and tried again. "Just step on in there—"

Fraser was already lowering himself into the tub, but he must've overestimated his steadiness because he started to go down a little too fast. Ray caught a hand under one of Fraser's arms and helped ease him in, ignoring the slosh of water that spilled over the edge and onto the tiles.

"Oh! Cold—" Fraser said, but he made a satisfied sound as he went fully under. "Thank God."

"Good, huh?"

"You have no idea, Ray."

"See, you need to _tell_ me what's going on with you. When things get bad, I mean. That wool suit of yours—it's not a crime to wear civvies when the weather gets like this, you know." Ray was babbling, because he could see Fraser's heavy cock floating lazily under the water, and Ray was about to suffer some heat prostration of his own, big time, all centered on the sudden hardness in his jeans.

"Yes, Ray," Fraser said obediently, a smile in his voice.

"Good. That's good." Ray reached down and grabbed the bar of soap.

"You aren't actually going to—" Fraser gestured at the soap and then at himself.

"Yeah, that's the plan. You got a beef?" Ray crossed his arms.

"No. No beef." Fraser's mouth twitched.

 _That depends right on your definition._ Because Fraser was all laid out in the tub like a fancy beefcake shot, one of those black and white ones that tried to pass itself as art so they could charge you three times as much. Fraser almost _was_ a black and white photo, with that dark hair puffing just under his arms and his pubes, and all that smooth pale skin—

"And another thing, while you're being all agreeable and listening to me and stuff—" Stalling for time, Ray rolled up his sleeves.

"Yes, Ray?"

"If I can't leave, you can't either." There. He'd said it. Ray's head was ducked down, so he didn't see Fraser's reaction. Instead, Ray dipped the soap in the water and started lathering up his hands.

"I...I have no plans to leave at this juncture."

"You're not—you're not angling for a transfer to Bumfuyuktuk or whatever?"

"No, Ray."

Ray looked up. The edges of Fraser's eyes were crinkled. "Bumfuyuktuk, Ray?"

"Yeah, well, all those little towns get mixed up in my head."

"Of course." The little smile went full-blown, and Ray caught his breath. Then he leaned over, his soapy hands slipping on the edge of the tub, and took that mouth and just kissed the hell out of it.

Fraser was breathless when Ray was done, which gave him a serious charge of _I am the Man_. His hands had moved to Fraser's shoulders, so he started there, sliding over the slick, wet skin, so soft but solid under his fingers. Then he washed Fraser's chest. When he found Fraser's tight little nipples, Fraser's head hit the tile wall with a painful-sounding _thunk_.

 _Heh heh heh_.

"God, Ray—" Fraser's voice was a low groan. It might've had something to do with the fact Ray's hands had drifted over the muscular belly and under the surface of the water, where he held proof positive that Fraser was recovering nicely from the heatstroke. Hard, happy proof sliding within the palm of his hand, and Fraser making little gaspy sounds, his knees falling against the sides of the tub.

"I've never...had...a bath quite like this before," he said, panting.

"Then you've been missing out, buddy," Ray said. "Later I'll show you my rubber ducky." He ran his thumb over the edge of the slippery foreskin.

Fraser groaned and went _thunk_ again. Ray stroked him faster, in the groove now. After a while he reached awkwardly with his other hand to stroke the tight skin under Fraser's balls.

"Ray!" Fraser said suddenly, his back arching.

"I got you, Frase. I got you right here." Ray squeezed with his fist and pumped hard, and with a moan Fraser gave it up, silky cream spurting from his cock to cloud the water. Ray eased him through it, left hand moving to rest on Fraser's belly and leaning with his cheek against Fraser's upraised knee.

"God," Fraser said after a while. He brought his wet hands up and rubbed his face. Then he squeezed Ray's shoulder. "I'm—that was—"

"Good?" Ray grinned.

Fraser gave him a disbelieving look. "Yes. To say the least. I hope you'll allow me to...return the favor."

"Let's get you rinsed off and we'll see what you're up to," Ray said, ignoring the angry hard-on trying to poke through his jeans.

Fraser was pretty shaky getting up and showered off. Ray patted him down with a towel and put him to bed. Once horizontal and naked with Ray, though, Fraser's energy level seemed to pick right up, and he proceeded to start with the licking that Ray had always known that tongue was capable of. Fraser worked his way down Ray's chest, got Ray good and hard with his mouth, and then rolled over in a silent offer.

Ray was no goddamned fool. He took Fraser up on it, suiting up and then sliding his slick fingers between Fraser's cheeks, touching him deep and good until Fraser was squirming, Fraser was _moving_ that perfect, fuckable ass, begging for it.

And then Ray slid home. God, it felt like home, the warmth and the soft strength pulling at him, wrapping him up tight. He'd never had anything half so good. He stayed there for a moment, planted inside, memorizing the feel, wondering how he'd made it so long without this.

Then he started to move. Fraser had collapsed to his elbows and was moaning Ray's name softly, so soft Ray could barely hear it. But he felt it in his gut, and in his cock, and in the way Fraser rippled around him, and Ray groaned Fraser's name back, lowering his forehead to Fraser's spine so he could reach around and—yup, Fraser was hard again, big and hard in his fist, and Ray fucked and fucked and stroked them both into oblivion.

>>><<<

Ray was used to waking up in the middle of the night and still reaching for something that wasn't there. For a long time it was Stella, her ghost lingering on his sheets like perfume. After the adventure, though, it had been Fraser he was reaching for in his mind, as if they were still out there on the snow and sleeping snug beside each other while the wind kicked up ice and pattered it against the sides of the tent.

After they got back to Chicago, Ray sometimes would hear that pattering in his dreams, and would wake up expecting the soft snuffle of Fraser's slow breathing. He'd missed it.

He heard it now, when he woke up in the muggy dark. A moment later the AC kicked in, and Fraser jerked, the bed shivering with the movement.

"'S just the air conditioner," Ray said, sleep fogging his throat.

"Mmm." Fraser was on his back, and he snaked his hand under the sheet to rest it on Ray's thigh. " _Br-ray_...chlorofluorocarbons... _mmmrbl_...ozone depletion..."

"It's okay, buddy." Ray rolled over and tucked his chin against Fraser's shoulder. "We'll get right on that saving the world thing."

"Uh-hnn."

"First thing tomorrow."

"Mmm—no." Fraser turned his head and nudged Ray's temple. "Second thing."

Ray smiled in the dark. "Yeah. Second thing."

...................  
2007.07.15


End file.
